


Too much and not enough

by GreenGlitchBitch



Series: Good Omens [17]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But they can't be together just yet, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley can't handle it, Crying, Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Only Temporary Though, Post 1967 scene, References to Depression, but not by much, hopefull-ish ending, more happiness than my last fic, mostly sad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenGlitchBitch/pseuds/GreenGlitchBitch
Summary: Impossibly, the year was still 1967. A little over two months of radio silence had passed since Aziraphale had given Crowley the thermos of Holy Water. He tried not to dwell on the events of that strenuous evening, the look of hurt and rejection on Crowley’s face throughout the entire meeting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621834
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Too much and not enough

**Author's Note:**

> Did you get enough angst from my last fic? Yes? Too bad, here's some more! This one id in the same timeline as Not Today, and there are mentions back to that fic, but not many. I have one more angsty fic planned for this little mini timeline of Crowley angst, but I don't know when to expect that one. Haven't even started writing it yet. I've been so mean to poor Crowley these last couple of fics, I am planning to write more primarily soft fics for the poor demon, so hopefully I can earn my place in the soft jail once again! This story is a bit less of pure angst, there's some softness to it, but not a lot, and it's temporary. All in all, it's a sad fic, but there's a bit of a hopeful ending. I'd like to thank Nen, Hal, and GeekWithTea from the Ace Omens chat for helping me finish this fic, and giving me ideas on how to end it, you guys are awesome, and I love you! There are some slight trigger warnings in here for mentions of depression, self-loathing and hopelessness, that last one is kind of a big part of the story, actually. Anyway, thank you for reading my angst fest, there should be one more in this connected timeline of sadness, and I hope you guys enjoy!!

Impossibly, the year was  _ still _ 1967\. A little over two months of radio silence had passed since Aziraphale had given Crowley the thermos of Holy Water. He tried not to dwell on the events of that strenuous evening, the look of hurt and rejection on Crowley’s face throughout the entire meeting. He’d wanted nothing more than to accept Crowley’s offer, but he couldn’t. His desire to keep Crowley safe outweighed his desire to be with Crowley. It would destroy him if something ever happened to his demon. Despite all that, the angel could feel his resolve slipping away, wanting nothing more than to finally give in to his love for the demon. And, as fantastic as that sounded, the consequences of doing exactly that, would not be worth it. He could lose Crowley forever, and that didn’t even bear thinking about. He wanted so badly to seek the demon out, but thought it best to leave him alone. Hopefully, Crowley was okay, and coping on his own.

Crowley was decidedly  _ not _ okay. Hardly a day had gone by where he was sober, choosing instead to lose himself in alcohol of all price ranges and types. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t discorporated from alcohol poisoning in the last two months, not that he cared. The more he drank, the less like shit he felt. After 1941, Crowley thought Aziraphale couldn’t break his heart anymore than he already had. How wrong he had been. A demon can only put on a fake smile, and pretend he isn’t broken inside for so long, before it all becomes too much. And that night, two months ago, had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Crowley knew he couldn’t face Aziraphale anytime soon, and pretend he was okay, when he wasn’t. He couldn’t even look at a book without breaking down. But, being drunk for two months straight has its consequences. He was fairly certain he had drunk some brain cells to death, with the ideas his mind thought were good. Not that he was listening to his brain at the moment. Any common sense he had while sober had been nonexistent for the last two months.

Which is how he found himself drunkenly stumbling through the streets of London in a downpour. He smelled of stale alcohol, he hadn’t showered since that night, and he hadn’t bothered to wear his sunglasses. People sent a myriad of looks his way, but he wasn’t focused on them. All he wanted right now, was to get to his angel. The rain drenched his clothes, soaking him to the bone, and freezing him. That didn’t stop him. He was determined to get to Aziraphale. The time apart had felt like it was killing him. He couldn’t stand to see Aziraphale, but he couldn’t live without him. And, as the old saying goes, desperate times called for desperate measures. He simply took another swig of the bottle of rain downed cheap scotch in his hand, and continued along his way, getting ever closer to his angel.

Aziraphale huffed a sigh, and set the book he’d been attempting to read down on his lap. He couldn’t focus on it. Try as he might, his mind kept wandering back to worried thoughts of his demon. Where was he? Was he alright, wherever he was? Perhaps he was somewhere pleasant, doing a job for Hell, perfectly alright. Aziraphale liked that idea. Yes, there was no reason to worry about Crowley, he deserved the benefit of doubt. He was beginning to imagine Crowley, perfectly happy, when a knock came from his door, disrupting his thoughts. 

“We’re closed!” he called to the closed door. Who in their right mind would want to visit a bookshop so late at night, in the pouring rain?

“Aaaaaangeeeeel” came the sing song tone of a very familiar voice, and Aziraphale rose from his seat, rushing to open the door. 

“Crowley! Where have you been, dear boy! I’ve mi-” he began, his voice cutting itself off as he opened the door, catching sight of the demon. He looked awful. Worse than awful. Deep purple circled rested under his eyes, which were red, as if he had been crying for some time. His hair, while dripping from the rain, looked untamed and unwashed. Messy stubble covered the demon's face, patchy and uncared for. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing that night two months ago, and he stunk of alcohol. Aziraphale could feel the deep depression and self-loathing coming off of Crowley in waves, stronger than anything the angel had ever felt before. Despite it all, Crowley flashed the most genuine smile at Aziraphale when he saw him.

“‘Zir’phale. Missed ye” Crowley said, leaning against the side of the building, in what Aziraphale could only guess was meant to look “sexy”, but in his drunken state, Crowley failed miserably. Aziraphale looked taken aback. 

“Crowley, are you drunk?” he asked, and Crowley nodded, looking almost proud, before shivering from the cold. Aziraphale pulled him into the shop, and wrapped a blanket around the demon, sitting him down on the couch.

“‘M gonna ruin your co- cou- sofa” Crowley protested, and Aziraphale shook his head.

“Sod my sofa. Are you drunk?” the angel asked, and Crowley giggled. Aziraphale furrowed his brow, beginning to get frustrated at the demon.

“What?” he snapped, but Crowley continued giggling. If Aziraphale wasn’t so frustrated, he would be amused.

“You swore” Crowley said, in the tone of one sharing a secret. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Crowley, are you drunk?” he asked sternly, though he knew the answer already. Crowley nodded again.

“Yeah. Been drunk fer two months now” he said, and Aziraphale’s frustration became worry. Two months? Had Crowley been drunk since their last meeting?

“Sober up this instant” the angel demanded, but Crowley shook his head, looking rather like a toddler.

“Don’ wanna” he said, and Aziraphale’s worry mounted. 

“Why not?” he asked, and Crowley smiled softly at him, but Aziraphale could see the pain shining through the eyes of his closest friend.

“Bein’ drunk’s warm. C’n pretend ‘m not broken inside. C’n ‘magine we’re ‘llowed to be ‘n love, ‘n it doesn’t hurt inside t’ think ‘bout you” Crowley said, sounding optimistic, but Aziraphale could feel the waves of heartbreak and sadness emanating from the demon, so strong, Aziraphale fought back tears. It was his fault Crowley was in this state. His cowardice had pushed Crowley to his breaking point.

“Crowley, please sober up, my dear” he tried again, and again, Crowley shook his head.

“Can’t” the demon said simply, not looking at Aziraphale anymore. 

“Whyever not?” Aziraphale asked gently, and Crowley sniffled.

“Cause if I do, I’ll ‘member that you can’ be in love with me. I’ll ‘member why it hurts to look at ye, and why I can’ live withou’ you. I can’ be sober right now, cause it hurts too much. Feels like my heart is dyin’” Crowley said, his voice breaking, his back still turned to Aziraphale. The angel felt as though someone had cut out his heart. He hated to see Crowley cry, as rarely as that happened, and now he was the reason his demon was crying.

“Crowley, come here, darling” Aziraphale said, scooting closer to Crowley. The demon whimpered a little as Aziraphale gently wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling Crowley’s back flush against his chest. Aziraphale slowly and gently move them to the arm of the sofa, leaning his back against it, holding Crowley in his arms. The demon whimpered again, but softer, the sound becoming a soft sigh at the sensation of being held by the being he loved more than anything in existence. Aziraphale was experiencing a similar sensation. He’d wanted to hold Crowley like this for so long, and while he hadn’t imagined it quite like this, he was finally able to indulge in that fantasy, even for a moment. He removed one arm from around Crowley’s waist, and the demon let out a soft noise of protest, before feeling a hand rub up and down his arm, comfortingly, and he sighed, leaning in to the touch, his breathing evening out.

“That’s it darling. Deep breaths, you’re okay” Aziraphale said, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s neck, and Crowley smiled softly, leaning his back even more against Aziraphale’s chest.

“Don’t despair, my dear. One day, we can be together without fear. One day, I can love you without fearing for your life. A day will come when I will get to hold you like this in public, and not have to look over my shoulder. Don’t lose ho-”

“Stop!” Crowley shouted, expelling all the alcohol from his system, finally sober. He pulled out of Aziraphale’s hold, his voice breaking. He wrapped his arms around himself, and moved away from the angel, still not looking at him. Aziraphale reached out a hand, and gently laid it on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Crowley…” he started softly, and Crowley flinched away from his touch, shaking with sobs.

“Don’t you dare give me hope, Aziraphale. If you give me hope, I’ll actually believe that one day, you can love me without regretting it. I spent five thousand years living like that, then you broke my heart, shattered that hope back in 1941. I can’t live like that anymore, hopelessly hoping that you could love me, that we could be together. It almost killed me to have that hope shattered once already. I don’t think I could survive that again. I love you more than anything in existence, but I can’t go through that again. So don’t just sit there, holding me like I’ve always dreamed you would, and give me meaningless hope. If you really love me, you’ll spare me that torture” Crowley finished, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks, breaths coming hard and fast from his chest. From behind him, he heard the soft sobs of the angel he loved, the quiet sniffles of his best friend. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to pull the angel into an embrace, to comfort Aziraphale as he’d just done for the demon, but not a muscle moved. He couldn’t just sit there and listen to his love sob. But, Aziraphale held onto hope, and Crowley couldn’t bear hope right now. 

Making up his mind, Crowley stood, removed the blanket from his shoulders, and miracled away the water spot left behind on the couch. Not sparing a glance at his angel, Crowley slowly walked to the door, and placed his hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave, when he heard Aziraphale speak up.

“Mind how you go” the angel said, and Crowley hesitated, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

“Please, don’t” Crowley choked out. Without turning back to look at Aziraphale, he opened the door, and walked out into the night, the falling rain hiding his tears. Aziraphale, alone in his shop once more, pressed a hand to his eyes and openly sobbed, the pain of what had just transpired overwhelming him. 

And though they would never speak of the night's events ever again, hidden away in a secret box, Aziraphale still had the note that appeared on his desk two days later. It read simply, “If you call, I will always answer”. And though neither would admit it to each other or themselves, perhaps there was hope for them after all.


End file.
